ABC Drabbles: B [Glee; Brittany, Rachel]
Title: Smart
Fandom: Glee
Pairing/Characters: Brittany, Rachel
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Glee and its characters do not belong to me.
Brittany isn’t always as dumb as she pretended to be in high school. It’s just easier to get by that way, sometimes. But it doesn’t even take a brain surgeon (and, okay, maybe for a while she got those confused with the fish; but that’s a simple mistake to make) to see what’s going on at table ten.
She doesn’t see Rachel Berry much these days, but she recognizes her in a heartbeat. And the man she’s sitting with is some semi-famous movie producer. Brittany’s seen him in the restaurant almost every night this week, with some pretty young girl who he makes false promises to because she’s got nice hair and legs, but really he’s only after one thing. (That’s what her father always told her, anyway, after her breasts started developing. Once, she asked Kurt what the one thing was. “Good hair products,” he said.)
She watches them while she gets drinks for other customers, watches Rachel’s hopeful expression slowly morph into one of horror as the move producer gestures lewdly to her sweater buttons. Brittany frowns, feeling that rare emotion of Anger bubbling up inside of her. Gathering as many cups of soda that she can carry, she heads for their table.
While Brittany isn’t as dumb as she lets on, she wouldn’t call herself a genius or anything like that. And she doesn’t always know the right thing to say or do. But one thing Brittany definitely is not is clumsy. Years of dancing and cheering has guaranteed her exceptional gracefulness and mastery over her legs and all their muscles. She has a perfect sense of balance.
Which is why it’s no accident when she stumbles by table ten. Still, she manages a very sincere gasp as all the soda she’s carrying spills out onto the movie producer’s hopefully expensive suit. It’s a flawless performance. She hopes Rachel can appreciate it.
“Oh, look what you-” The producer stands, looking down at himself with an incensed groan. “You idiot!”
“I’m sorry,” she whimpers after him as he storms away, toward the restroom, ineffectively wiping at his wet lap.
Once he’s gone, she smiles and turns, but the expression Rachel’s wearing as she stands and grabs her purse is unreadable.
“I wasn’t going to sleep with him, you know,” she says, with a little huff, like she’s offended, and she walks off without another word.
Brittany doesn’t mind. She hums a little as she starts to clean up the mess and she doesn’t even realize that Rachel’s come back until the clicking of her heels is right behind her. When she turns around, Rachel hugs her. Her embrace is tight and warm and grateful, and Brittany feels good, happy, and smart.
Fandom: Glee
Pairing/Characters: Brittany, Rachel
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Glee and its characters do not belong to me.
Brittany isn’t always as dumb as she pretended to be in high school. It’s just easier to get by that way, sometimes. But it doesn’t even take a brain surgeon (and, okay, maybe for a while she got those confused with the fish; but that’s a simple mistake to make) to see what’s going on at table ten.
She doesn’t see Rachel Berry much these days, but she recognizes her in a heartbeat. And the man she’s sitting with is some semi-famous movie producer. Brittany’s seen him in the restaurant almost every night this week, with some pretty young girl who he makes false promises to because she’s got nice hair and legs, but really he’s only after one thing. (That’s what her father always told her, anyway, after her breasts started developing. Once, she asked Kurt what the one thing was. “Good hair products,” he said.)
She watches them while she gets drinks for other customers, watches Rachel’s hopeful expression slowly morph into one of horror as the move producer gestures lewdly to her sweater buttons. Brittany frowns, feeling that rare emotion of Anger bubbling up inside of her. Gathering as many cups of soda that she can carry, she heads for their table.
While Brittany isn’t as dumb as she lets on, she wouldn’t call herself a genius or anything like that. And she doesn’t always know the right thing to say or do. But one thing Brittany definitely is not is clumsy. Years of dancing and cheering has guaranteed her exceptional gracefulness and mastery over her legs and all their muscles. She has a perfect sense of balance.
Which is why it’s no accident when she stumbles by table ten. Still, she manages a very sincere gasp as all the soda she’s carrying spills out onto the movie producer’s hopefully expensive suit. It’s a flawless performance. She hopes Rachel can appreciate it.
“Oh, look what you-” The producer stands, looking down at himself with an incensed groan. “You idiot!”
“I’m sorry,” she whimpers after him as he storms away, toward the restroom, ineffectively wiping at his wet lap.
Once he’s gone, she smiles and turns, but the expression Rachel’s wearing as she stands and grabs her purse is unreadable.
“I wasn’t going to sleep with him, you know,” she says, with a little huff, like she’s offended, and she walks off without another word.
Brittany doesn’t mind. She hums a little as she starts to clean up the mess and she doesn’t even realize that Rachel’s come back until the clicking of her heels is right behind her. When she turns around, Rachel hugs her. Her embrace is tight and warm and grateful, and Brittany feels good, happy, and smart.